


Secrets and Lies

by brooksey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Minor Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Secrets, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooksey/pseuds/brooksey
Summary: In which Dorian learns just how inconvenient complete and total honesty can be.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83
Collections: Actually Adoribull Fic





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, there was a prompt on the DA Kinkmeme that I will never be able to track down again so you'll have to take my word for it. The prompt wanted a Dorian who, for whatever reason, is involuntarily telling the truth all the time, and as a result can't stop talking about his love for Iron Bull.
> 
> This is not that; I went in a somewhat different direction with it. But it is inspired by and sort of adjacent to the original request, so props to the anonymous prompt writer anyway.
> 
> Thanks to Kris, my faithful beta reader, who somehow always knows what needs to be said, and how to say it.

The moment he quaffs the potion, Dorian knows something is off. The rush of magical energy surging through his body, that feels right. But this time it's accompanied by something else, a not-unpleasant fizzing sensation all over his skin. And his head feels light, not dizzy but physically lighter — somehow it seems to actually weigh less for a few seconds before snapping back to normal.

He examines the small blue bottle he's holding and sees the same familiar label that all the Inquisition's lyrium potions use. The empty bottle smells just as it should; the one last drop he can shake out into his hand offers no clues. 

The rest of the group around him is going about their business just as he'd expect after a scuffle, so evidently nothing outwardly obvious has happened to him, either. Dorian's eyes narrow in confusion, but by this point he doesn't feel anything odd anymore and it's impossible to pinpoint what might have caused the... whatever that was. 

"Dorian, is there anything wrong?" The Inquisitor is looking at him... well, inquisitively, he supposes. 

"I'm not entirely sure, to tell you the truth," he replies slowly, "but if there is, I couldn't tell you what."

"Mystery solved, then," she says with an arched brow. "Just promise me that if there is a problem, you won't keep it to yourself."


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they're making camp, Dorian is certain that there is, in fact, something wrong. The trouble is, he can't pin it down. He's kept to himself all day, avoiding the group to concentrate on probing at the edges of his magic. Whatever it is kept slipping out of his grasp at the last second, and he is no closer to an answer.

He'd rather be alone tonight to keep trying to figure this out, but the last thing he needs is Trevelyan fussing over him like a mother hen, so when she suggests a few rounds of cards he agrees to play. Not long after they begin they're playing a hand with a large pot, and as usual Trevelyan starts poking at him in an attempt to figure out whether he's bluffing.

"Dorian... I sense weakness," she muses. He shrugs casually. Closely watching his face, she asks, "What have you got over there?"

"Four angels and a knight," he answers promptly.

A beat — then he freezes as he realizes what he's said. He glances up and sees everyone else looking back at him, faces half surprised and half disbelieving.

He lays down his cards — four angels and a knight as promised — and stares at them for a while, silent but thoughts racing. Then his mind makes the connection. "That potion earlier, there was something strange about it. I think it's making me—" He stops abruptly and Trevelyan finishes his sentence: "...making you tell the truth?"

"And compelling me to do so."

Trevelyan looks concerned, but also doubtful. "Is that even possible?" she asks. She studies him as he confirms that it is indeed possible, then suddenly springs her question on him. "What do you think of my armor?"

 _Uniquely charming_ is what he means to say, but what actually comes out of his mouth is something else. "It's bloody hideous. You made it with plaideweave, what did you expect?" 

Wincing, he shoots Trevelyan an apologetic look. He hopes that will be enough evidence for her, but no such luck — she isn't satisfied, though Dorian can't really blame her. On a bad day he very well might say something like that, spell or no spell.

"Are you sleeping in Bull's tent tonight?"

"Oh, I hardly plan on doing any _sleeping_ , my dear."

Trevelyan and Varric laugh at that response, while Cassandra is exasperated. Bull is smiling widely from across the fire. Dorian drops his face into his palm. Even under the influence of some kind of truth magic, he's sassing her. Which, while unsurprising, has suddenly proved to be most inconvenient.

He says his goodnights and flees to Bull's tent — no point in trying to hide it now, is there? At least this way, there will be no more blighted _questions_.


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't know how you can read while riding like that. I would have been sick three times over by now." Dorian feels a bit queasy just thinking about it.

"I shouldn't," Cassandra concedes, "but I've been waiting weeks to find out what happens to the Knight-Captain, and I didn't want to put it off until our return to Skyhold. Whenever I get a new chapter, it is difficult to resist."

"Ooh! You have the new chapter? May I have it when you've finished?" Dorian asks with delight. When he belatedly registers what he has just said, he cringes. Then things get much, much worse.

From the sound of it, Varric is riding directly behind them, and there's no way he didn't overhear. "Hang on a second. Are you telling me that you've been reading my awful romance novels too? _You_ , Mister Refined-Taste-in-Wine-and-Literature? How did you even get your hands on them?"

"I steal them from Cassandra's desk when she goes off to train," he admits, as Cassandra looks sharply in his direction. "And as a matter of fact, they are my favorite and guiltiest pleasure," Dorian continues, the confessions pulled from his lips by the accursed truth spell. 

"I knew I wasn't crazy," Cassandra mutters. "Dorian, if you wanted to read the manuscripts, you could have just asked. Why go to the trouble of sneaking into my office?" 

"Because it's a well-kept secret that I'm a fan, obviously. I have my reputation to think of! It wouldn't do for anyone to know I read them, much less enjoy them."

Varric snickers from behind them. Dorian turns around and looks daggers at him, but it has zero effect. If anything, it just makes him laugh harder. He faces forward again and screws his eyes shut, hoping for the subject to drop. For a little while it seems like it will... until Varric chimes in again.

"Well, Seeker, it looks like you've got yourself the beginnings of a _Swords & Shields_ fan club, doesn't it?"

Cassandra perks up instantly, and her eyes are alight with the excitement that only Varric's books bring out in her. Clearly, she will not be denied the opportunity to discuss with a fellow fan and ignores the fact that everything about Dorian says _go away_. She launches a barrage of questions asking his take on the plot twists of the various novels, which characters are his favorites, and where he hopes the series will go next. Resigned to his fate, Dorian answers them in full and often filthy detail.

Varric pulls even with them as they ride, in theory joining the conversation, though it seems to Dorian the dwarf is mainly there to be self-satisfied in Dorian's line of sight instead of behind his back. Eventually, Cassandra mentions something that results in Dorian giving an obscenely graphic description of what he considers the lead character's best physical attributes, his face getting ever redder the longer he goes on. One look at Varric's face tells him that he will never live this down.


	4. Chapter 4

Back at Skyhold, Dorian patiently tolerates the mild discomfort that results from Solas's magic reaching out to prod his own. At the same time, the elf turns Dorian's head sharply from side to side with his hands, though Maker only knows what he's looking for. Trevelyan and Iron Bull simply watch and wait for the verdict.

Eventually, Solas withdraws both himself and his magic. "I can't be certain who or where it came from, but I suspect it's Tevinter in nature," he begins with a hint of distaste, and even though Solas _is_ helping him, Dorian rolls his eyes a little. 

"The magic involved is not harmful, so we have no reason to assume this is anything more than a prank. But because it was bound to the lyrium in that potion, the enchantment can't be safely removed."

Trevelyan looks up at Solas, alarmed. "It's permanent?"

Solas directs his reply to Dorian instead of Trevelyan. "The good news is it should wear itself out in a few days, perhaps as long as a week."

 _Maker help me_. Dorian doesn't want to think about how many more horrifying truths he might accidentally reveal in a week. Still, it's not Solas's fault this is happening, so he stands to offer the elf a handshake in gratitude.

"Thank you, Solas. Your assistance in this matter is much appreciated," Dorian says as they let go. "I have to say, I've rather begun to regret helping Sera acquire all those pinching crustaceans she planted in your robes last month."

Bull looks down at the floor, doing his best to hide his amusement. And the fact that he already knew Dorian was partly responsible for what had proved to be quite an uncomfortable night for Solas. Trevelyan raises her eyebrows and asks, "That was you?"

"Indeed it was," Dorian answers, voice strangled as he tries and fails to stop himself. 

Solas has narrowed his eyes while listening to the confession, and his lips are pressed together in a thin line. Dorian would even swear that his ears have flattened out slightly in the manner of an irritated cat. Solas takes a step forward and Dorian finds himself backed into the wall as the elf leans in close. "Dorian..." he murmurs dangerously, and Dorian presses himself back further, as though the wall might swing open on a hinge and allow him to escape if he can push hard enough.

"...those things _hurt_ ," Solas finishes, almost petulant.

Dorian relaxes slightly, which turns out to be a mistake when it allows his mouth to take over once again. "Oh, I would imagine they did. I made sure to get her the kind that has sharp pincers _and_ pointy teeth."


	5. Chapter 5

"Wine."

Dorian is perfectly aware of how irritated he sounds, and just how rude it is, but that's really the least of his problems at the moment. The barkeep hesitates.

"Of course, sir. But I'm not sure whether we have any wine of high enough quality for your—"

"I honestly don't care," Dorian interrupts. "I'll take whatever you have on hand no matter what sort of swill it is. Just— wine. Now."

The barkeep's eyebrows shoot up at this, probably because on any other day Dorian wouldn't find _anything_ in the tavern acceptable to drink. But he says no more and goes off to get the wine. Dorian drums his fingers on the bar impatiently and wipes a hand across his eyes. He turns and leans his back up against the bar, surveying the room. Most of the patrons are people he doesn't recognize, which is all to the better as far as he's concerned. 

In fact, he spots only two people he knows: Trevelyan and Cullen, huddled together at a small square table in the far corner. Dorian instantly knows what’s going on by their body language — each is leaning toward the other, each wearing a flirtatious smile, and their hands are a mere hair's breadth away from touching.

Just then, there is a heavy clunk behind him, and then another. The barkeep says quietly, "I've brought something else I thought you might like as well." When he turns around he sees the wine bottle he's expecting, and next to it a second, smaller bottle of dark brown glass bearing no label. Dorian uncorks it and sniffs — whiskey. Perfect.

Without bothering to read what it is he yanks the cork from the wine and takes a swig. He grimaces — it really _is_ the most awful rubbish — and puts it back down. For a moment, as he contemplates the bottle of whiskey, an alarm in his head sounds a warning. After only a brief hesitation he decides to ignore it. He grabs one of the cups meant for ale and fills it to the top with whiskey instead. 

It turns out the whiskey is much better than he would have guessed, and it takes only minutes for him to drain his first cup. The alcohol hits him hard and fast — which is the whole point of this exercise — and halfway into his second cup, which was just as full as the first, he's feeling quite lightheaded and dangerously relaxed.

Unfortunately, Blackwall chooses that moment to enter the tavern and approach him. Blackwall may be the very last person he wants to see right now, so Dorian wills him to go away. The effort is a spectacular failure. Because it's just his luck today, rather than ignoring him, Blackwall greets him politely. "Dorian. How are you?"

"Much better now I've had all this whiskey," he says, toasting with his half-full cup. 

Blackwall looks surprised, and curse the man, he doesn't leave it alone. "What brought this on?"

"A better question might be what _didn't_ bring this on today," Dorian grouses. "Let's see. I managed to avoid Sera all day because Maker knows what humiliating things she'll ask me once she finds out about my little 'condition'. But I _did_ run into Leliana, at which point I wound up telling her precisely what I think of her look. To make things worse, I next suggested that she call me over for help next time she's getting dressed in the morning. I'll be checking my bed for poison-tipped needles for weeks."

By now Blackwall is stunned, still as a frightened rabbit, but Dorian isn't done yet. " _Then_ Vivienne found me, and she hadn't yet heard what happened, so of course I immediately had more embarrassing and tasteless things to say. Do _not_ —" he emphasizes this with a slashing motion of his hand, for Blackwall has opened his mouth to speak, "do _not_ ask me what I said to her. If you do I'll be forced to repeat it and I'd really rather not if it's all the same to you."

"Er— right," is all Blackwall can say in reply.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to... be elsewhere."

 _Elsewhere_ turns out to be Trevelyan and Cullen's table, to which he walks unsteadily and plunks himself down in one of the empty chairs. They straighten up immediately and withdraw their hands. Cullen, in particular, is looking like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

"Hello, everyone," Dorian drawls.

They exchange a glance before Trevelyan returns the greeting. "Hello, Dorian. We were just... discussing improvements to the training spaces."

"Of course you were. Very convincing." Dorian gives her a conspiratorial wink and goes on. "You know, Inquisitor," and here he gestures expansively towards Cullen, "you really need to take this strapping young soldier of yours to bed soon. Otherwise I'm going to have to do it myself."

Cullen suddenly seems to find the tabletop fascinating and stares hard at it. Already Dorian can see a deep blush creeping up towards his ears and down over his jawline. Trevelyan actually jumps slightly in her seat. She's startled enough that she forgets herself completely and asks him a question: "Why do you say that?"

Under normal circumstances, Dorian never passes up a chance to fluster Cullen, and he probably wouldn't do so now even if he _could_ keep his mouth shut. For the first time — and probably the last — he doesn't find himself wishing he could vanish into thin air while under the spell's effect.

"Oh, come now, let's not be coy." He grins devilishly. "You two are plainly mad for each other. And surely by now you're familiar with our dear Commander's many... assets? I know you're aware of how devastatingly handsome he is, as we were just discussing it in detail last week. And then of course there's his delicious body. Broad shoulders, strong arms, trim waist... just imagine the fun you could be having. I know I have."

It's here that it hits Dorian just how quiet the tavern has become. Sure, everyone is at their tables, drinking their drinks, not looking in their direction. But the usual low buzz of many conversations taking place at once is conspicuously missing, and since Dorian hasn't made a point of keeping his voice down thanks to the whiskey, it’s clear everyone is eavesdropping. 

Cullen, meanwhile, has gone beet red all over, even past his hairline. He seems to be hoping the floor will open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Even Trevelyan is blushing now. Usually this is where he would stop teasing Cullen, but alas, tonight he truly cannot do so. After a beat, his voice rings out in the silence.

"I can't even begin to imagine why you would wait a moment longer than necessary to get your hands on that divine ass of his."

At this, Cullen bolts up out of his chair, mutters _I should go_ in Trevelyan's general direction, and strides swiftly out of the tavern. The hum of conversation picks up again, sprinkled with some chuckling. Trevelyan rubs her forehead, suddenly looking tired.

"You know, Dorian—"

"I know! I know," he cuts her off, rubbing his forehead just as she did. "I went too far. I couldn't help it, you must know that. I'll apologize to Cullen when this is all over. I just hope he'll forgive me."

"He knows about the spell; he'll be all right. Eventually. But that's not what I was going to say." He looks up at her and unbelievably, she seems... pleased.

"It wasn't?"

"No. I was going to say that, despite it coming out in the worst possible way, you're right. I _shouldn't_ wait a moment longer than I have to." She finishes her drink and stands up to leave, looking determined. "And now that you mention it, I'm not going to."


	6. Chapter 6

Dorian still isn't sure why Trevelyan insisted he come to this mission planning. Something about Venatori, blah blah Alexius, and he'd stopped listening to her after that. At first he'd flat-out refused, because him at a meeting with nine other people seemed like a truly terrible idea for reasons he'd thought were obvious. But Trevelyan wouldn't let it go, so after what felt like hours of badgering, he threw up his hands in defeat and agreed to go on the condition that she choose her words carefully and then leave him alone for the next few days. 

She agreed, and so here he is, already dying for it to end when it has only just started. Besides dreading the inevitable embarrassing outburst he is certain he'll have, he also snagged a rare Antivan vintage from the great hall on his way over here, and anticipating tasting it isn't helping his patience. Normally he'd have already started on it, but the last thing he needs is to add lowered inhibitions into this disastrous mix. He learned that lesson the hard way.

Trevelyan is outlining the basics of her plan and getting input from each of her companions in turn. Dorian is hanging back, trying to blend in with the stone wall and hoping she'll overlook him. But alas, eventually she locks eyes with him and takes a moment to think before asking her question.

"Dorian," she begins hesitantly, "do you think two weeks in the field will be enough to track down and clear out all the Venatori?"

 _Yes._ "Yes," he answers aloud, then sends up silent thanks that for once, what he said echoed what he was thinking.

Trevelyan looks a little less tense. "Suggestions for improving our position?"

He steps into the center of the room reluctantly to point at her map. "Send forces ahead to clear the side path here," he replies, "and I can use it to get to high ground if I need it." Dorian's eyes flicker up towards Iron Bull and see his nearly imperceptible nod of encouragement. So far so good.

"...all right, thank you, I think that's all I need," she says, visibly relieved. As she's rolling and tying up her map, she remarks offhandedly, "We'll be heading out soon, so if anyone has any other thoughts about the mission, speak up or forever hold your tongue."

Words come sailing out of Dorian's mouth before he even realizes he's talking. "I'm thinking let's extend it and stay out there longer, Inquisitor. Cullen keeps posting extra guards on night duty, and they're making it impossible to get around Skyhold unseen. Tents make it so much easier to just slip away with Bull whenever we're in need of a good, hard—" 

He has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself talking, but it's far too late. Trevelyan looks horrified at her blunder, and he gestures pointedly at her: _I told you so_. Most of the group is doing well enough at keeping a straight face, but Sera is giggling and flashing him various obscene gestures. Bull himself leans against the wall casually, all smoldering eyes and smile that is equal parts smug and inviting.

Dorian heaves a long-suffering sigh. Lacking a corkscrew, he uses an extravagant amount of magic to pop the cork from the wine with a flourish, and downs a long gulp straight from the bottle. "All right!" he says brightly. "If you'll be kind enough to excuse me, everyone, it seems I've got rather a lot of drinking to get to. I'd offer to share, but, well, I don't want to." On his way out the door, he throws caution to the wind and calls back over his shoulder. 

"Iron Bull — perhaps you'd care to join me?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Iron Bull is frowning at him from across the room, concerned.

It's been six days since the spiked lyrium potion, and Dorian can feel the unwelcome truth spell only faintly when he searches his magic for it. Trevelyan and Varric have cooked up a night of drinks and Wicked Grace before they leave on their next long mission, and after spending the last two days hiding from everyone and everything, he's ready to get back to normal. 

"Yes, I'm sure," he nods. "I'll be fine. Probably. No, definitely, I will definitely be fine."

Bull looks skeptical. Dorian _feels_ skeptical, but he's hardly going to tell Bull that. "It's fine, Bull. We're going."

When they arrive, everyone is in high spirits and many hands are played without incident. For the first time in what feels like an age, Dorian is able to relax and enjoy himself. Enough ale has been consumed by the rest of the group that they are plenty relaxed around him, too.

Trevelyan sports a lazy smile as she shuffles and deals the cards. "So, Dorian, the quartermaster tells me you requested a larger room." Dorian nods in reply, and she continues. "What's wrong with the one you have now?"

Dorian accepts his first card and explains: "Nothing wrong exactly, though I _may_ have set fire to the curtains," which makes Bull smile. "But I'll need more space if I'm going to have Bull moving into my room."

That gets everyone's attention — suddenly the whole table is looking at him and he can't help blushing. He focuses on organizing his hand of cards, but when he looks up, the table is still quiet and exchanging glances. "What?"

"Nothing," says Trevelyan, a little too quickly. She looks like she's about to apologize, but before she can get anything else out, Sera pipes up from the far end of the table. Among them all, Sera has had the most to drink by far. 

"What you have to go and do that for, eh? It's no fun for me if I can't catch you sneaking around and then have a go at you after."

"Sorry to ruin your fun," he shoots back dryly, "but I love him, and I want him close, and that means sharing quarters. Even if it makes Sera unhappy."

Under her breath, Sera grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _well... piss._ Then she downs the rest of her drink and gets up in search of more. As she goes, Dorian looks around at everyone else and gestures with his cards. "Shall we?"

They get back to the game and do their best to forget Dorian's latest confession. Before long, the good mood has returned, cards and coins flying into the center of the table for the rest of the night. The party ends abruptly when Cullen loses his clothes to Josephine and is forced to flee the room naked, but by then Dorian is more than ready to retire anyway, so he's grateful for the reprieve. But when they finally get back to their room, Bull is oddly subdued.

He leans against his desk and folds his arms. "All right, let's have it. You barely spoke the second half of the night. Why are you moping?"

"Not _moping_ ," Bull protests. "Just disappointed that you have to be dosed with some kind of truth spell to admit to... well, us... in front of people."

Dorian blinks. "I do not."

"What are you talking about? That spell has had you spilling secrets about us all week, and you obviously hated it."

"Yes, well." Dorian can't exactly argue with that. "I suppose that's fair enough. But not anymore. That wasn't the spell talking."

Iron Bull arches a brow, clearly doubting this. "Really."

"Try me."

After giving Dorian a side-eye for a minute, Bull turns thoughtful until he comes up with a question he can use as a test. "I've been thinking we should start spending more time with Blackwall, what do you say?"

That makes Dorian smile. He'd be shocked if there were anyone at Skyhold who _didn't_ know that he and Blackwall aren't particularly fond of each other, and of course Bull is well aware. "Lovely man, I'm very much in favor," he answers. "Do you want to wait, or invite him up right now?"

A bit surprised, Iron Bull tries again. "Want me to ask Varric if he can get you copies of the whole _Swords & Shields_ series?"

"Maker, no! Why would you even suggest that? I would never lower myself to read such drivel."

"The Inquisitor's new armor?"

Her latest creation is a shiny light green and shocking orange affair that hurts to look at. "Fashion at its finest. Verging on a work of art."

At this, Iron Bull breaks into what may be the biggest grin Dorian has ever seen on anyone. It's infectious and Dorian immediately grins right back. "What? I told you, the spell's worn off. Everything I said tonight came from me, not the magic."

"I guess it did." Bull walks over and leans in close, planting both hands on the desk, Dorian trapped between his arms. His voice comes out as a low rumble. "So. Remember how you set those curtains on fire...?"

Dorian's smile turns into a suggestive smirk. "I remember exactly how I set the curtains on fire, _and_ exactly what made me do it. And...?"

Bull leans in even closer to murmur in Dorian's ear. "Let's see how much more damage we can do."


End file.
